Jack&Teague [& Katy] stories 1-5

by Amy Lane

  “Do you think I don’t know?” Teague asked roughly. “Do you think I don’t know how Green heals? How do you think I knew to bring you here, Jacky?”

  Jack jerked a little, but Teague wouldn’t let him go. He leaned his cheek against Jack’s back, and Jack felt their skin sliding together on something wet.

  “Is that why all the affection?” Jack asked, trying not to let the hurt this thought caused leak through his voice. “I smell like Green now, and it’s okay to love him?”

  “Right, Jacky,” Teague murmured, his sarcasm sounding clogged. “That’s why I’m making an ass of myself, moving on you when you can barely walk.” Now he was the one who tried to jerk away, but Jack wouldn’t let him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, wishing he could see Teague’s face, see those intense eyes, know what Teague was thinking.

  “Don’t be.” Teague rubbed his face against Jack’s shoulder, and Jack could feel the entire line of his body along his back, including a rather thick bulge at the back of his thigh. “I’m not easy to care about. I just kept thinking you’d figure out I wasn’t worth it, that’s all.”

  Jack pulled up the hand around his middle and kissed the tattoo on the inside of the wrist, loving the shiver that coursed through Teague’s body.

  “You are so easy to love,” Jack whispered. “It just sucks to make you see it, when it’s so clear to everyone else.”

  Teague’s left arm wrapped around Jack’s middle and Jack looked, surprised, at the newly healed scars on the front. “Not everyone—just you, you dumbassed kid.”

  Jack took Teague’s other wrist in his hand and started to stroke off the dried, flaking blood. “What happened?” He asked gently. Teague tried to jerk away again, and Jack still wouldn’t let him.

  “Got bit by a wolf,” Teague muttered into the skin of Jack’s back, and Jack frowned.

  “When? Here? Why would a wolf bite you here?”

  The silence froze the room, and Jack could hear his heartbeat in it, could feel the pulse at Teague’s wrists beating against his stomach, and when Teague spoke, his voice sounded surprisingly normal.

  “I asked her to, Buttercup. Don’t sweat it.”

  Jack’s whole body went cold, then flushed, and Teague’s arms tightened around his stomach. “Teague…”

  He turned then, in Teague’s arms, looking down at the shorter man with dazed blue eyes. “Teague…” he repeated, and Teague wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “You told me not to leave you. I don’t see why it’s a big fucking deal, Buttercup—if you don’t want me, all you have to do is say…”

  Jack kissed him. Jesus, it was the only way to shut the guy up!

  But even that Teague couldn’t make easy, because he took over the kiss, forced Jack roughly back against the counter, shoving his tongue inside Jack’s mouth and tasting and possessing and invading.

  Ah, God, Jack let him. It felt so good—Teague, his partner, the guy who’d had his back for so long, and he wanted Jack—really wanted him. Wanted his body, wanted his love—it felt as though Jack had held his hands out for a year and a half with his heart in his palms, and his arms had been shaking from the strain. Holding Teague tight, letting his mouth be possessed and claimed, feeling that small, compact, vital vibration of muscle, skin, and bone assault his senses…it was all he needed to heal the pain of waiting.

  Jack groaned, clutching at Teague’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but Teague pulled away, dropping to his knees and pulling off the towel. Jack was going to pull away—he still hadn’t showered—but Teague did the unexpected.

  He stroked Jack’s cock tenderly, promise in the touch, and then moved it aside, putting his lips firmly on the mark on that tender inside of Jack’s inner thigh.

  “Did Green tell you what it says?” Teague asked, bumping Jack’s thigh with his forehead, like a dog looking for affection.

  “No.” Jack replied, knotting his hand in Teague’s spiky, dark-blonde hair. He hadn’t even thought to ask.

  “It says ‘Teague’s’.”

  Jack leaned back against the bathroom door, his vision going dark. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes.”

  “No matter what else we do—we both like women, Jacky. You know that. But always—you’re mine. Hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it!” Teague demanded, his voice harsh and needing, his cheek bumping Jack’s erection until he wanted to howl, because Jack was needy too.

  “I’m yours!” Jack rasped, and then he groaned, stars popping behind his eyes, because Teague had engulfed him, swallowed him, taken his cock down to the back of his mouth and moved his lips over the base. “Ah, God…” And Teague pulled back and took one of Jack’s testicles into his mouth, gently, so gently, and then the other, and Jack’s knees were trembling, and he wanted…he so wanted…

  Teague turned him then, faced him towards the mirror, and Jack stared at his own reflection in shock. His cheeks were flushed darkly and his eyes were dilated, heavy lidded, and the expression on his face was naked with wanting…wanting a thing he hadn’t known he’d crave until the night before, in Green’s bed.

  And then Teague gave it to him, his tongue and mouth and fingers working in concert until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and he bent double over the marble counter and groaned, the hoarse sound ripping out his chest with its intensity.

  Teague continued, tongue and fingers, stretching and tasting, and Jacky groaned his name, begging, and again, afraid that he would come, so afraid he would come before Teague was inside of him, possessing him, making his mark, taking everything Jack had offered for so damned long.

  And then Teague stood up, his underwear kicked off at his ankles, and Jack heard his own voice, hoarse with wanting. “The shirt too, Teague,” he begged, and Teague complied, standing behind him, his scarred chest slick with sweat, the tense lines around his eyes and his mouth making damned sure Jack knew he wasn’t playing around.

  “Am I naked enough for you, Jacky,” he asked harshly, and Jack met his eyes in the mirror, bent over the counter, his ass in the air.

  “Am I naked enough for you?” He countered, daring the man to take him.

  Teague reached over his shoulder, a small pagan smile quirking at his mouth. “Seven kinds of lubricant? Any preferences, Princess?”

  “Yeah—if you call me Princess again, I’d prefer you jerk off and die!”

  Teague gave his best fuck-me grin and half emptied the tube in his hand down Jack’s backside, and then his fingers moved inside Jack again, more stretching, a twinge of pain, and then…and then…

  “Aaaaaauggaghhhhh…” Teague thrust so deeply inside of him that Jack was surprised he didn’t taste that thick cock in the back of his throat.

  And then he began to move, to thrust, to pump, to grunt in harsh puffs. Jack almost sobbed at the feeling, the fullness, the amazing completion and joining of the two of them, and then Teague’s hand knotted in Jack’s hair, keeping his head up so they could meet eyes in the mirror. It was then, in the midst of his toughest grimace that Jack saw it. Teague’s eyes dropped to Jack’s, the hard lines of his face eased, and in one moment his face was so soft, so vulnerable, so sweet, and he was looking at Jack with everything that was tender, and everything that was love.

  Jack’s head dropped, and Teague’s hand came around to grasp his prick firmly and jerk on him until he screamed with the pleasure, coming in spurts across the wooden cabinets, clenching around the tender thing inside him until Teague’s head fell forward and he cried Jack’s name, grabbing him with both hands around the middle and holding him tight, so tight, that Jack could hardly get his breath, could hardly separate their bodies in his mind, could hardly conceive of a moment when they might ever be apart.

  They stayed in that position, panting for a moment, and then met eyes in the mirror again. Teague’s harsh expression was belied by the total nakedness in his eyes.

  “Mine,” he asserted, trying not to make it a question.

&
nbsp; “Yours,” Jack reassured, taking the hand at his waist and kissing it again.

  “Shower?” Teague asked playfully, and Jack nodded, laughing a little and shaking his head.

  “Please?”

  Teague’s expression sobered, became intense and erotic and promising. “Say it again,” he ordered, and Jack met his eyes just as soberly.

  “Please,” he repeated, trusting Teague would keep that promise.

  “Please what?” Teague smiled a little, and Jack wondered what sort of hells he would leap through, just to see that raw, vulnerable, promising smile on his lover’s face.

  “Please do anything you want to me,” Jack begged, and that smile became all triumph.

  The shower lasted a while. Jack had hoped that when it was done, he’d know Teague’s taste as thoroughly as Teague knew Jack’s, but no. Teague had given again, had touched, had tasted, and Jack had let him, hoping the trust would come later. But he did know some things by the time they emerged, tired, dripping, laughing shyly into each other’s eyes.

  He knew the way Teague liked to be touched, how tightly the skin puckered around his little tan nipples, the sensitive spot right underneath his cockhead. He was terribly aware of the awesome power he had when he spanned Teague’s scrawny, muscle-knotted waist with his long-fingered hands, or when he stroked those sharp collarbones with his thumbs and pushed their mouths together for a kiss.

  They fell into bed still damp, still laughing, still breathless, and very, very tired.

  “Will this be different, you think,” Jack asked, stroking the side of Teague’s face with his knuckles, appreciating every touch of their bare skin.

  “When we’re wolves?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. It will be us. It will be sex. And we’ll still be family.”

  Jack laughed a little and shook his head. “Say it, Teague. It will make you feel better.”

  “Whiny bitch,” Teague grumbled, turning into Jack’s arms, resting his head on Jack’s upper arm.

  “Just say it, asshole. I’m tired and I want to hear it, and you already know I love you. Just fucking say it.” Stubborn fucking Irishman.

  “I love you, Jacky,” Teague murmured, surprising them both with how quickly he gave in.

  “I love you too, you dumb motherfucker.”

  Teague chuckled a little, and they fell gently asleep.

  Epilogue

  Green Family

  Green was in the kitchen in his sweats after all the students had left for the morning. He and Arturo were eating sweet little kids cereal and appreciating the late morning quiet in the hill. Katy was supposed to be joining him in his room in a few moments, and he was glad Cory had left already. His beloved was so very gracious about his appointments, but he liked to limit how much graciousness she actually had to expend.

  Teague stumbled in, wearing the same thing Green was, and looking surprised and embarrassed to find people there.

  “I was…” he flushed, looking uncomfortable, and Arturo excused himself, carrying his bowl with him and pushing spoonfuls in his mouth as he left.

  “He didn’t have to do that,” Teague grumbled, “I was just looking for food.”

  “There’s always some sandwiches in the refrigerator,” Green supplied, “and crackers and snacks in the cupboards. Help yourself.”

  Teague bowed his head and mumbled thanks and started rooting around in the refrigerator. Roast beef for him, turkey for Jacky, and two bottles of cold chocolate milk, and… he eyed the package of double-stuffed Oreos longingly, thinking that Jacky didn’t particularly care for sweets, but that he’d always liked cookies himself.

  “Take them, Teague,” Green said gently. “Grace has about fifty other packages in the outside pantry. I meant it—help yourself.”

  Teague flushed and picked up the package, putting it under the plate he’d made with sandwiches and fruit.

  “Before you pick all that up, I do have a few things to talk to you about—sit down, right?”

  Teague looked uncomfortable, and Green laughed. “It’s not bloody awful mate, it’s just house business, that’s all. You and Jacky—you’ve filled a void here, you know?”

  Teague dropped bonelessly into the wooden chair opposite Green. “No,” he responded. “I have no idea.”

  Green rolled his eyes. “We have sort of an unusual operation here, mate. Most times, werewolves need an alpha. We’re a collective. The werewolves have, for the most part, looked to the vampires here—so the head of the vampires has been the head of the weres, too.”

  “Adrian,” Teague said blankly, and Green nodded.

  “Yes—and for the last year and a half, Cory.”

  Teague blinked. He’d known she was terrifying, but… “The little student?” It felt unreal to contemplate.

  “Oh yes—that mark on your wrist binds you as completely to her as it does to me. Why? Doesn’t she meet your qualifications?”

  Teague shook his head violently. “She’s perfect,” he said fervently, and Green smiled benevolently, as though he had passed a test.

  “Oh yes—you have no idea. But she’s not a werewolf. Nicky, one of our bound mates, is an Avian—so she does have a tie to the shape-shifter community, but wolves are tricky. There are many physiological and psychological things that go into being a wolf, even part time, and they need someone special to look to. And none of the wolves here at the hill are alphas.”

  Teague blinked. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you are, Teague.”

  Teague shook his head. “Oh no. I’m nobody’s leader—I’m…I’m an idiot! I led Jacky into an ambush, I fought for the bad guys because I was too stupid to know better… believe me. I’m a two bit loser son of the world’s biggest loser, and the last person you want…”

  “Stop it!” Green’s eyes were flashing hotly, and for the first time Teague wondered what it took to make the elf angry. “That’s more than enough of that shit, Teague Sullivan. You wouldn’t accept it before, but you bloody well have to now. You’re ours. You’re family. No one talks about my family like that, you fuckwit wank, now shut up and listen to me!”

  Teague’s mouth dropped open, and it occurred to him that he was seeing the flip side of kindness. It was fucking scary, that’s what it was. “What would I have to do?” He asked, not wanting to watch Green’s eyes flash like that again.

  Green’s grin turned lopsided. “Nothing horrible, mate. Just stay for Christmas. Let us help you through transition.”

  Teague wanted to jump on that. Brave words to Jacky or no, the thought of turning into something different, something alien, frightened the piss out of him. But…his thoughts turned unhappily to their cozy little apartment in Sacramento, all of the tiny, important things they had done to make it their own.

  “But we wouldn’t have to stay?” He asked, making sure.

  “No, Teague—many, many of us live off-campus—you know that.” Green’s demeanor relaxed a little, and Teague’s did too in sympathy.

  “What else then?” Teague asked, still suspicious.

  “Dinner here, once a week—that’s all. Give the werewolves someone to come to with their problems. You’ll eat up at the leader’s table, and after dinner, they’ll approach you. It’s our tradition—once they see you, one of their own, up at the table, they’ll know they can turn to you. And you, in turn, have some very special qualifications and abilities to help them out. Trust me—give it a few months, and you’ll forget you were ever worried.”

  Teague frowned a little, thought about it. Nodded. “We can do that. It’ll do Jacky good to have family,” he said decisively, standing up and going back for the food. “Jacky deserves to have people who care about him, you know?”

  And with that characteristically terse reply, Teague ghosted down the hallway again, as silent as the wolf he hadn’t turned into yet.

  Green rolled his eyes at Katy Garcia, who had wandered into his room unnoticed when Teague sat down. She’d stuck her h
ead out of his room the moment Teague had passed the doorway, and now she shook it in exasperations.

  Jacky deserves to have people who care about him, you know?

  “So do you, you dumb motherfucker,” Green muttered in exasperation, using Jack’s own words. Katy heard him and laughed softly, her eyes following Teague long after his shadow had disappeared down the hall.

  Waiting

  Book Two

  A Green’s Haven story of Jack and Teague

  By Amy Lane

  Prologue

  Teague Dreaming

  The dream didn’t sneak up on him. It didn’t change magically from one thing to another. It pretty much just ripped through Teague’s consciousness like blunt scissors through human flesh, and it had been doing so for nearly a week and was therefore starting to piss Teague off.

  It started with what he knew was true. Jack was at his feet, crouched in the middle of a scene, looking for clues to the whereabouts of one Katy Garcia, the werewolf who’d been captive in the dingy little craphole they’d gone to rescue her from. And then Teague stood up, and there she was, scared, pissed off, and ready to chew the face off of anyone who got in her way.

  Teague was in her way. His only emotion was a vast feeling of relief that it was him and not Jacky. And that was the pulse-pounding panty-pissing moment that the dream became a nightmare, because in a blur of fur, in a growl that stood Teague’s hackles up in his sleep, Jack stood up and Katy ripped a big fucking hole in his stomach and his chest and Teague fell to his knees screaming ‘No Jacky no!’

  And that’s when the dream became a dream and not a memory, because that’s when Teague could feel his body twisting, stretching, popping, when he hadn’t done this yet, hadn’t gone through it, didn’t know to know, just knew to guess, but still it happened. His skin itched, his teeth and snout grew, and a horrible growl issued from his chest...

  And he bent his sharp teeth and long tongue, dug a snout into the hole in Jacky’s chest and ripped out his heart, chewed on it ecstatically, swallowed the pieces whole.